


The Time We Lost

by betterprepared



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Flashbacks, Getting Together, Heavy Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, The Sewers, The Town House, seriously this hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 15:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21000188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betterprepared/pseuds/betterprepared
Summary: Richie's in love with him. Has been since they were kids, even when he couldn't remember.He has to leave.-Reddie in The Town House, and all that comes after.





	The Time We Lost

**Author's Note:**

> This took me a month to write. A MONTH. 
> 
> They found and lost each other within the space of an afternoon. It's gonna get sad y'all.

Richie hardly acknowledges Ben and Bev when he gets back to the Town House. They're sitting at the base of the staircase, bodies leaning towards one another as if there were some magnetic pull. Their voices are hushed and private as they speak, only focused on one another.

On any other day, Richie would have left them to their shared peace for a while longer, but this is not that day. In fact, this is gearing up to be quite possibly the worst fucking day of his life, and he is not in the mood to stick around to find out if it improves.

Ben looks to him the moment he is through the door, any greeting faltering on his tongue as he sees the look on Richie's face.

"Rich?" he says instead, "Everything ok?"

Bev turns to look at him as Ben speaks. The instant worry that sets into her face is palpable.

"Richie, what's happened?" she asks anxiously, grabbing onto the banister and pulling herself to her feet.

Guilt sinks low in Richie's gut at their concern, but he knows he can't stick around any longer. Being back in Derry, back with that stupid fucking clown and the immeasurable sense of lost childhood, it's too much.

"I'm leaving," Richie says without missing a beat, avoiding the gaze of his friends as he starts up the stairs at an alarming pace.

"What?" Ben exclaims, standing as Richie shoulders past him, "What happened?"

Bev's eyes widen, "Richie you can't, you could die-"

"I'm going to die either way," Richie snaps, "I'd rather take my chances on the West Coast than die in this shithole,"

Adrenalin roars in his ears as he hastily walks away from the pair, hoping to God that they don't follow.

He's too shaken to think of even a half-convincing lie, so one look at Bev's face and he's going to word-vomit everything Pennywise said. His secret will be out for sure.

"Rich," Bev insists, "Just wait a second-"

"I need to pack," Richie interrupts forcefully, "And then I'm getting the hell out of here,"

"Richie, you can't just leave, you know what Mike said," Ben pleads up to him, carefully beginning to ascend the stairs as he speaks.

"Fuck what Mike said," Richie says, harsher than he means to, as he reaches the top of the staircase and rounds towards his motel room, "Fuck this town, and fuck that fucking clown. Leave me the fuck alone,"

His words are biting and unfair, Richie knows, but he's on the very precipice now. His hands are shaking, palms sweating, his vision's wavering at the edges - the idea of any of the Losers seeing him this way makes him want to choke.

As he storms down the corridor towards his room, he hears Ben's footsteps slow to a stop behind him and Beverly mumbling something he can't quite make out. Richie swallows back the lump of guilt in his throat and fumbles for the key to his door, shouldering it open at the click of the lock.

He makes it as the panic begins to crest, stumbling across the threshold and slamming the door shut behind him. The wood makes an almighty bang as it crashes into the frame, but what follows is worse. Complete and utter silence.

Richie slumps back against the door, exhaling short, laboured breaths against his tightening chest. He brings his hands to his head, pushing his hair off of his face and digging in nails into his scalp, as if he could rip that awful sing-song voice from his memory.

_I know your se-cret, your dir-ty lit-tle se-cret!_

Richie closes his eyes as his mouth twists in despair. The fucker had leered at him as it sang, a stretched red grin filled with cruel joy, because It knew something that Richie had barely known himself.

He had some idea that he liked boys when he was in college, this was true. His gaze would linger on their broad shoulders, muscled biceps, and strong jaws; his dreams would be filled with his male classmates, cupping his face, pressing him gently into his bed.

But he grew up admist the AIDS crisis, matured when it was still illegal to be gay in most states. His dreams terrified him, made him cold to the bone. How could they have not? Hate crimes were rampant, landlords were discriminatory, good jobs were few and far between if you were queer.

Life was not easy for anyone who didn't follow the agreed sexual norm, and if Richie wanted to be someone, really go somewhere with his comedy, there was no way he could accept it. Once he'd graduated, he walked onto the showbiz circuit a straight man, and after a while, he'd managed to convince himself that it was true.

Until Mike's phone call, until Derry, until that bastard clown and his stupid fucking grin.

Richie tears his hands from his face and pushes himself from the door. He needs to pack. He needs to leave. Slews of lost childhood memories are coming to him by the second; memories of sleepless nights and anxious days, wondering if it's normal and knowing that it can't be, not with all the stories on the news and the slurs sprayed haphazardly across town. Not caring one day. Caring so, so much the next.

It's too much. He wants to go home.

Richie drags his suitcase from the floor and pitches it on his unmade bed. He hasn't got long, he knows, until Ben or Bev or any of the others come knocking, and he wants to be long gone by then.

His hands are still shaking violently as he gathers his things and tosses them carelessly into his case. It’s a small blessing that he’s only been here for a night so far, so there’s not much to pack.

He races around his room in record time, scooping up his belongings and cramming them into any available space he can find in his bag. He's nearing 40, and still can't find the effort to fold his clothes. Eddie, he thinks, would throw a fit.

Richie freezes, hand still plunged into the depths of his case.

Eddie.

_Eddie._

His stomach lurches violently, and Richie pulls his hand free, staggering backwards.

He’d already known that something was different in the way he felt for Eddie. Seeing him in the restaurant yesterday, so different and yet so familiar, Richie had felt a sense of relief, of pure joy, that was so strong it ached in his chest.

But it hadn’t mattered that he couldn’t understand the strength of his feelings. It hadn’t mattered that he couldn't explain why he was so inexplicably hurt by the sight of Eddie's wedding ring, and why he’d felt the constant need to tug at his hair and pinch his cheeks and tease him mercilessly. He'd missed his friend, who could blame him?

But Jesus- Jesus Christ, that's not what it is, is it? Richie exhales shakily. That's not what it is at all.

He sits numbly on the bed. He'd been so blissfully ignorant.

_I know your se-cret, you dir-ty lit-tle se-cret!_

Pennywise hadn't just been talking about Riche's repressed sexuality. No. He'd been talking about Eddie.

Richie's breath catches in his throat, hand twisting in blankets at the realisation. And then memories are bursting from the depths of his subconscious, new, forgotten memories, each bringing with them a new wave of grief.

The evening after he and Eddie shared the hammock for the first time, trying and failing to sleep because he can't stop thinking about the press of Eddie's bare leg against his, and how much he wants Eddie to climb into his bed too.

In Neibolt, when he's sure they're seconds from death, holding Eddie's face and pushing the sweat soaked curls off of his forehead - "look at me Eds, just look at me," - because he can't let his friend's last moments of life be in terror.

Scratching their initials into the Kissing Bridge, heart pounding as he finishes the E. Not being able to admit the exact reason why but knowing that he feels stronger for Eddie than anyone else he has ever known.

Lying next to him in a hammock that is far too small for them now, feeling the warmth of his body against his side. Watching his long lashes brush against his skin as he picks miserably at his thumbnail. The Toziers are moving out of Derry tomorrow. Richie feels like he's being torn apart.

'I love you' he thinks, turning his face into Eddie's hair, 'I love you so fucking much'.

Richie runs a hand across his face in numb shock, grip slacking on the motel's bed sheets. It is a resolute, unshakable truth.

He is in love with Eddie Kaspbrak. He has been since he was a teenager, whether he remembered him or not.

"Jesus," Richie whispers through his fingers, "Jesus fucking Christ,"

There is nothing to hide behind now. The Pandora's Box in his head, containing every childhood memory, fear, and devotion, has been well and truly emptied. There is no denying any of it. He remembers everything. He feels everything.

Richie stumbles to his feet. He has to leave. Everything he thought he was, he is not - his life has been an entire fucking lie, and it is sending his brain into overdrive.

He is not dealing with this. He is going back to LA. He is going back to what he has so insistently and painstakingly built for himself - his life as a regular guy with a normal childhood, who likes women and has never even heard of the name Eddie Kaspbrak, let alone fallen hopelessly in love with him.

It's a facade of a life, yes, but it's safe. He's vulnerable here in Derry, especially now he knows with utmost clarity who he was, who he is, and how he feels for his best friend.

No one can ever know.

With fumbling hands, Richie zips up his suitcase, tugging impatiently as it catches halfway round. He figures that he can get out via the fire exit if he's quick, leave before the others notice that he's gone.

He lugs the case onto the floor, wincing at the thump it makes on the carpet. He can't think too much about the others, if he does he'll want to say goodbye - or worse, stay - and they'll know something's wrong for sure. Richie can't take that risk.

As a last minute thought he pulls his wallet from his jeans pocket and slaps a handful of ten dollar bills on the bedside table. He won't get any other chance to pay for the room, not unless he goes to the front desk, and that's out of the question.

He takes his room key and throws it next to the money before turning for his case, heart pounding in his ears. His fingers are closing around the case's handle, ready to pick it up and run, when there is a sharp knock at the door.

Richie freezes.

For one ludicrous second he thinks it could be It.

The knocking sounds again, louder this time.

Do bloodthirsty monsters knock?

"Richie, open the door,"

Richie’s gut twists. It’s far worse than Pennywise. Far, far worse.

"I know you're in there," Eddie demands. He doesn't sound pleased. "Open your fucking door,"

"Shit," Richie hisses under his breath, slapping a hand to his forehead, "Fucking shit,"

He's about three sizes too large to crawl into the vents, and he's grown rather fond of his working legs, so the window's out too.

Either he faces Eddie with the knowledge that he is, and always has been, inconceivably in love with him, or he finds a way to get rid of the most stubborn being known to man.

"Fuck off Eddie," he exclaims through the door. He's relieved to find his voice sound relatively normal, a whole world away from the panic he is currently feeling, "I'm jacking off, stop interrupting,"

"Bull-fucking-shit you're jacking off," Eddie bellows back instantly, undeterred by Richie's crudeness, "Ben and Bev told me what happened, and you are not fucking leaving Rich- over my dead body,"

Richie's mouth goes bone dry. He's silent for all of a second before Eddie is speaking again.

"I'm not leaving until you let me in," he says angrily, "I swear to God Rich I will break this door down if I have to, whether your dick’s out or not!"

"Just fuck off Eddie, this has nothing to do with you!" Richie snaps desperately through the door, the lie burning on his tongue.

"Nothing to do with me?!" Eddie repeats, his voice pitching in disbelief, "It sure as shit has something to do with me Asshole, because the fewer Loser's we have the more likely it is that we're fucked!"

Richie drops his head in frustration, barely stifling a groan. He's suffocating in this town, and with Eddie just outside, he feels like the noose is getting tighter.

"I'm not leaving," Eddie's voice is as stubborn as ever. Richie would bet ten dollars that he's standing behind the door, arms crossed, with a face like there's a stick up his ass, "I'll get the others up here too, you know I will," 

Richie heaves a deep sigh, closing his eyes for a moment to ground himself. He knows for a fact that Eddie is telling the truth, and knows further still that the only way to shut him up is to let him in.

He also knows, however, that he's going to have to put on a hell of a show to convince him that he's alright. Eddie, more than anyone, will be able to break down his facade with scarcely a look - especially after the events of the last hour.

_Shall we play Truth or Dare Richie? Tell everyone what you've been hiding?_

Eddie starts knocking incessantly, like a child waking up his parents on Christmas morning. Jesus wept, Richie could wring his neck sometimes, he swears.

He loves him so fucking much.

"Alright!" he snaps at the door, anything to stop the thunderous knocking, "Fine!"

He crosses the room and yanks the door open, unable to move aside before Eddie is storming past him in a blur of rage and pastel, knocking it back into Richie with a thump.

"Jesus Christ," he complains, shoving the door back into place before turning to Eddie, "No need to be so aggressive,"

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Eddie demands, rounding on him as he reaches the centre of the room, "What the fuck is this?"

He’s furious, all 5’9 of him, and is gesturing wildly as he speaks. He looks so cute (cute, cute, cute) in his yellow shirt and baggy grey sweater. They’re oddly reminiscent of what he used to wear as kid, making him look softer, gentler than he had when Richie had seen him that morning.

His face, though, is anything but. Eddie is livid, a deep pink flush splashing across his cheekbones, his dark eyes filled with anger directed solely at him. Richie could easily flinch under that glare, break apart and confess everything – maybe then Eddie wouldn’t be so furious.

"I'm leaving," he tells him, throat tight in shame as he speaks. He struggles to meet his eyes. "I'm going home,"

Eddie balks at his nonchalance. "Since when?!" he fumes, "We went through this yesterday! We all decided to stay!"

"I've changed my mind since then," Richie tells him plainly, "It's been a rough afternoon,"

Eddie's eyes widen comically, as though he can't believe what he's hearing, "Join the club Rich! I'd just finished cleaning leper vomit off myself when Ben came to tell me the shit you were spouting,"

Richie grimaces, despite himself, "Gross,"

Eddie looks as though he wants to kill him, "Yeah, actually- it was fucking gross!" he yells, "But you know what? I'm still sticking around!"

_It's not the same,_ Richie wants to say, _You don't understand._

"Good for you," he answers back instead, beginning to advance on his suitcase. It’s not worth trying to reason his way out of this – the best he can do is push him away, piss him off until Eddie storms out and leaves him to flee, "Sorry I don't have the balls of the great Eddie Spaghetti, who was still scared of ladybugs at sixteen years old,"

"Fuck you Richie!” Eddie spits angrily, “Are you really treating this as some kind of joke? Do you really not care about us at all?!”

The unexpected question stops Richie in his tracks, hurt blooming in his chest at the suggestion. He looks to Eddie. The eyes on his are accusatory and spiteful, confused and hurt by his change of mind.

"We both know that the less people there are for the ritual, the less likely it is that we succeed," Eddie says, voice harsh, "We could die down there if you leave - does that really not matter to you?"

Richie swallows hard against the lump in his throat. This was a mistake. He should never have let him inside.

“Of course it matters,” he says, “You know how much you guys mean to me,”

“Clearly not enough!” Eddie exclaims, gesturing to the suitcase by Richie’s side, “Because you’re leaving anyway!”

“That’s not how it is Eds,” Richie says helplessly, “You don’t understand-“

“I, of all people, understand!” Eddie interrupts him angrily, “Do you not think I’m fucking terrified Rich?! I can barely put one foot in front of the other, ‘cause every step is just one closer to having our heads ripped off by a man-eating demon-clown!”

“Eddie-“

“But I’m staying, because it’s what I promised I’d do,” he continues, “We made an oath,”

Richie closes his eyes tightly, dipping his head so he can rake his fingers through his hair, “Things have changed,” he insists, hoping that Eddie can’t hear the strain in his voice, “You’re stronger than you used to be, I’m not,”

“Bullshit-“

“It’s true,” Richie pulls his hand away from his face, “It knows me better than I know myself. I’m useless against It – it knows everything,” he swallows hard, “I saw It for two minutes this afternoon, max, and it’s fucked me up Eddie. I can’t stay here,”

There is a moment’s silence before Eddie speaks. When he does, his voice is still insistent, but there’s an understanding behind it that makes Richie want to cry, “But Richie, you’ve got us. We’ve got each other’s backs, you know we’d be there with you,”

Richie shakes his head in despair. Eddie just doesn’t understand.

“Rich,” Eddie says, his tone noticeably softer as he steps cautiously forward, reaching out a reassuring hand to rest on his elbow. Richie jerks away from the touch before he even thinks about, a knee jerk response that has Eddie recoiling like he’s been burnt.

His hands are beginning to shake again, panic rearing its ugly head as the realisation hits – this is going to fall to pieces, and fast.

“Shit,” he breathes, bringing a hand up to rub at his neck as he clumsily side steps Eddie and heads towards the window. He’s not going to be able to realistically lie if his face gives it away, and given the burning in his eyes, that’s a real possibility.

“Richie, tell me what’s going on,” Eddie says impatiently from behind him, “I just want to help,”

Richie shakes his head. He wishes he could. He wants to fold himself into Eddie’s frame, to be held until his world stops spinning, but he knows that it’s not remotely plausible. Not with that ring on Eddie’s finger – probably without it too.

“I know that It’s intense,” Eddie pleads, “But we can beat it if we stick together, Mike said so-“

“It’s not just It,” The words are out of his mouth before Richie can take them back. They’re forceful, frustrated, wrapped in anger and misery that hangs stale in the silence of the motel room.

There is a moment’s silence before Eddie speaks again, “Well what does that mean?” he says indignantly from the room behind him.

Richie closes his eyes to steel himself, breathing slowly as he carefully chooses his words. Eddie won’t accept anything less than an answer, this he knows, but too much could reveal everything.

“I just…” he swallows against the dryness in his throat, “Seeing Pennywise today brought back some memories that are…a lot to deal with,”

Eddie is silent behind him. Richie talks on, struggling as his throat grows tighter.

“I don’t want to leave you here, but I feel like my heads going to explode,” he explains, “I’m…I’m feeling too much Eds, and I hate it. I can barely look you guys in the eye, let alone kill some ancient force of evil who already knows exactly what makes me tic,”

“But Rich, however shit you feel – whatever It made you remember - we’re your friends,” Eddie insists, “We’re here for you,”

Richie huffs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. The sentiment is there, but he’s just not _getting it._ “You’re just not understanding Eds-“

“Then explain it to me!” Eddie replies impatiently, “Look me in the eye and make me understand,”

How? How can he make him understand without revealing everything? Richie barely suppresses a groan. If he doesn’t come up with something half-sensical Eddie’s going to be here all evening, which puts a pretty big dampener on his escape plan.

“Look,” he says after a hasty second of thought, turning to look at Eddie as instructed, “How does it feel being back here, in Derry?”

Eddie frowns in annoyance, “Don’t try and make this about me Rich because-“”

“Eds,” Richie begs, cutting his friend off short, “Please just answer me,”

He must look as desperate as he feels, because Eddie softens, just a bit. His gaze flickers away as he considers the question, frown deepening in thought, “I don’t know…” he says after a moment, “It’s weird. I never really thought about Derry before, but now I’m remembering heaps of stuff that I had no idea even happened,”

“And how did it feel at the restaurant yesterday, when you saw us again?”

Eddie shifts uncomfortably where he stands, “It was a lot,” he admits eventually, “It was the feeling of…love, I guess, hitting me all at once. For people I hadn’t even known existed for 27 years,”

Richie swallows, “That’s what I’m feeling,” he says, “But worse,”

Eddie looks unaffected. No doubt he thinks Richie’s just being overdramatic.

“I don’t have a wife, don’t really have many friends, and comedy’s basically a one-man career,” Richie explains, “I’m pretty lonely, and like…I don’t mind that. It’s fine. But then I meet all you guys again, and suddenly there are people in my life who I’d die for, people who I love more than anything else in the world, and I’m not used to it at all,”

It’s not the whole truth, that’s for sure, but it’s certainly part of it. Richie loves the Losers Club like crazy, but it’s his complete and utter devotion to Eddie, Eddie and his big eyes and loud voice and short temper, that scares him the most.

“And then this afternoon, Pennywise…” Richie grimaces as he tries to think of how to place his words, “He said some shit that made me rethink everything- shit that I don’t want to have to think about, not when I’ve already made a life for myself.

“And the more I think about it, the more I’m realising that I’ve been missing this huge part of me for twenty-seven fucking years. And now I’m here - with you - and I’m feeling so much, all at once, and it’s too much for me Eddie. I can’t do it. I can’t stay here and feel like that anymore,”

“And by ‘with you’,” he adds on with a jolt of panic, realising his slip-up, “I mean collectively. Like, ‘you all’. Not just you,”

The room is silent as Richie’s lie hangs in the air. Eddie swallows.

“I know what you mean, I think,” he mutters at last, eyes slipping to the floor. Richie near drops to his knees in relief that he didn’t question his mistake.

“I- um… I don’t think I’ve ever loved Myra,” Eddie continues to Richie’s surprise, a dry, humourless laugh escapes his lips, “I think I felt more love yesterday than I have since I was seventeen,”

Richie blinks in shock. This was the last thing he expected him to say.

“It scares me,” Eddie says, looking back to Richie. His eyes are wary. “I don’t know how to deal with it,”

His heart aches at the guilt in Eddie’s face. He itches to pull him into a hug, to tug at his cheek and crack a joke, but Jesus, he feels like how Eddie looks. He couldn’t make a joke if he tried.

“That’s why I’m leaving,” Richie tells him softly, “It’s safer for me in LA,”

Eddie shakes his head resolutely, “You can’t,” he says, an edge of desperation to his tone, “I know being back here is a lot, but Richie, _you can’t,_”

He wonders if he knows how much it’s killing him, hearing him beg in this way. Richie can’t stand the idea of abandoning him, his stomach roils at the thought of it. But he can’t do this – he can’t love this much with the knowledge that he will get nothing back; he can’t suddenly accept his sexuality after decades of deep, concrete repression; he can’t let himself be this vulnerable.

“You should leave too,” Richie says quietly, beginning to move towards his case, “You don’t have to go back to Myra, but you sure as hell shouldn’t stay here,”

“No- Richie!” Eddie makes a grab for his arm as he passes, pulling him roughly away from the bag, “Listen to me,” he demands.

When he speaks again, it’s firm with truth, “I can’t do this without you. Alright?”

Richie blinks as he turns back to his friend. His arm burns where Eddie had touched him.

Eddie huffs, cheeks beginning to dark with embarrassment, “I want to stay, because I know as well as you do that us Losers are the only ones who can stop It. But I can’t do it without you,”

He swallows, his throat bobbing, “I can’t…Jesus- _fuck,_” he falters in his words, closing his eyes in frustration and pushing his hair from his forehead, “Rich, I can’t lose you,” he says quietly, as though he can barely admit it to himself.

Richie doesn’t mean it to, but his heart stutters, just for a moment. God, he can’t lose him either.

Eddie’s hand falls to his side as his eyes open, locking to Richie’s with a vulnerability they’ve not had before, “If you leave, you’re dead for sure – that’s what Bev said,” he admits softly, “It’ll kill me if that happens,”

Richie swallows hard against the steadily rising lump in his throat. It burns how much he feels for him, and it’s so, so unfair that he can’t admit it. It terrifies him this feeling, especially when he knows that Eddie is surely speaking platonically.

“Eddie,” he mutters unsteadily, “You’re not-“

“Don’t” Eddie interrupts, moving forward to place a hand around Richie’s wrist, “Don’t fucking talk this down, I’m being serious,”

Richie’s stomach lurches at the touch, warm fingers pressed against his pulse point. He wonders distantly if Eddie can feel his staccato heartbeat underneath his fingertips.

“For most of my life I felt like there was something missing, something important,” Eddie says quietly, as though any louder would scare him away, “I thought Myra would fix that, but it never went away,”

He exhales shakily, “The restaurant yesterday, remembering everything, seeing you-“ he pauses for a moment, voice barely above a murmur when he speaks again, “Everything made sense. I felt whole again for the first time since I was a kid,”

Richie’s mouth is bone dry, his mind racing as he tries to process what he’s hearing. He doesn’t understand what Eddie means. He can’t even begin to hope.

This is when Eddie’s eyes flicker to fully capture Richie’s. They’re a deep, endless brown, desperately boring into Richie’s as though trying to convey everything he is struggling to say.

He loves him. Richie fucking loves him with every piece of his being.

“I can’t lose you again Rich,” Eddie says, his voice thick, “I can’t do it,”

His voice, his face, everything conveys complete and utter honesty, a truth that Richie can’t grasp. _Why?_ He wants to ask. _Tell me why, because I can’t say it, and I need to know if you feel the same._

His eyes are burning dangerously, but with Eddie’s hand securely on his wrist, there is no turning away. He is naked, vulnerable, and Richie knows with utmost certainty that everything is being conveyed in his face, that if Eddie didn’t know before, he certainly does now.

“Eds,” he says softly, his name catching in the tightness of his throat. It says everything that he can’t.

_I love you. You’re everything to me. Whatever you do, stay or go, just please- God- be careful with me._

Eddie’s eyes glisten in the evening sun spilling in through the window. He’s so close that Richie can see every dip and mark on his skin. He wants so much that it takes his breath away.

He wants to bury his face in his neck and breathe in his scent. He wants to run his fingers over his wrists until he can map each and every vein. He wants to cradle his face, the soft pads of his fingertip’s delicate on Eddie’s warm skin and find every crevice, every freckle, every frown line, and commit it to memory.

He has never loved anyone like he loves him.

“Rich,” Eddie says gently in reply, sincerely, like a promise. The hand on his wrist pulls away as Eddie moves to touch his face instead. His thumb rests on his jaw, his fingers brush the hair that falls behind Richie’s ears. He feels like he’s falling.

“Richie,” Eddie says again, in a quiet voice only for him. 

_I love you._

Then he’s leaning forward and pressing their lips softly together.

Richie’s entire body goes numb.

It’s shy, and featherlight, as if anything more will break Richie apart. It’s certainly a possibility. He feels like glass underneath Eddie’s fingertips, like he could crack down the centre at the slightest touch of his mouth.

Eddie pulls back, only slightly, breath ghosting over Richie’s lips as their noses touch. He’s giving him the chance to step back, Richie realises in a flash, giving him the power to stop this before it starts, if that’s what he wants.

It is the very last thing that he wants.

Instead, he moves, he dips his head and captures Eddie’s lower lip in his own, a confirmation that _Jesus, yes, I’ve been waiting for this since we were kids._

Eddie inhales sharply at the move and, after a moment’s hesitation, as though he can’t quite process Richie’s response, presses forward, moving to cradle his face in both hands. 

Richie brings his hands to Eddie’s waist and pulls him closer. He can scarcely comprehend the feeling of how right this is, can barely process anything but _Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, God he loves him, everything about him._

His large brown eyes that narrow every time Richie spouts a joke; his long delicate fingers that twitch for his inhaler when he gets nervous; his cheeks that still flush a deep pink when he bites back at Richie's teasing, just like when they were young. They are all at his fingertips, at that very moment, and nothing else in the world matters.

And then, there’s a tip of a tongue that grazes the seam of Richie’s lips, warm and gentle against the skin. Distantly, Richie remembers a time in high school, when he and Eddie had spotted two classmates sucking face in homeroom. Eddie had sniffed and muttered:

“That’s gross. That’s honestly so gross – do you even know the amount of germs they’re sharing right now?”

And yet here, now, as Richie parts his mouth, Eddie is licking timid into his mouth with gentle strokes, as if he is the exception this rule. It’s exploratory, as though he’s never done this before, and it’s dragging small, intimate noises from the back of Richie’s throat as he pushes back in desperation. 

He slicks his tongue across Eddie’s, runs it over his perfectly straight teeth. He wants to trace every curve of his mouth and commit it to memory, wants to push closer, harder, until they’re bound together, inseparable. After so many years of being alone, it’s overwhelming.

“Eds,” he mumbles between their languid kisses, “Eddie-”

Eddie groans, low in the base of his throat. Richie feels like he’s drowning.

And then a horrible thought douses his pleasure, and Richie is suddenly pulling back.

“Wait,” he mutters, “Wait,” 

His heart is beating furiously as Eddie blinks, confused, hands falling from his face. His mouth is bruised and wet with Richie’s saliva. Seeing it takes the air out of Richie’s lungs, makes his legs weak. He can’t begin to process how starved he had once been, and how complete he feels being here with Eddie. 

But it’s for the sake of his own heart that he speaks again. 

“What is this to you?”

The question is heavy in the air, though barely louder than a murmur. This means too much to Richie, far too much, for him to continue without knowing for sure.

“Because,” he pauses for a breath to steel himself. It is an admittance that he had held with him for over thirty years, and saying it to Eddie’s face, even if he has just had his tongue down his throat, is terrifying.

“Because,” he tries again, “If this is just… just some last minute fling cause you think we might die tomorrow, I don’t want it,” 

Eddie looks startled by the suggestion, but now it’s out there, Richie struggles to stop.

“I don’t think you realise how much you mean to me,” he continues, struggling to speak as his throat starts to constrict at even the thought, the idea, at the idea that his feelings are not shared in return, “Everything. You mean everything,” 

Richie steps back into Eddies space and lifts a hand to push a non-existent curl of hair away from Eddie’s forehead. It’s just a reason to touch his face, to convince himself that he’s real and is there, solid, in front of him.

“Even when we were kids, it was always you. Even when I didn’t know what it meant,” he says quietly, because any louder will show the tightness in his throat, the emotion in his words, “And if that’s not what this is for you, that’s fine- that’s ok. But I’ve got to know,” 

Richie watches Eddie warily, watches the shifting emotions in his eyes as his thumb runs across the gold of his wedding ring. He can see Eddie turning over the words in his head, can see his eyes beginning to glaze and furrow with frustration at his own helplessness. 

The silence hurts, that Richie can’t deny. But then, Eddie has more to lose. The idea that he would give that up for Richie of all people is ridiculous. But even so. Richie can’t help the hum of hope in his chest.

It is a long time before Eddie says anything.

“I’m so…angry,” he says eventually, voice hoarse, “So fucking angry that I forgot you,” 

Richie swallows hard. He doesn’t know where this is going, but Eddie’s voice is thick with upset. 

“When we were kids… I thought you were an ass most of the time, but I couldn’t imagine a life without you in it,” Eddie’s mouth twists through the pain carved into his face, “But because of It, I did. I forgot the best thing in my life and ended up fucking miserable,” 

His eyes drop to the wedding ring on his finger.

“Think of what we could have had Rich, if we’d remembered,” he says softly, “Think of what we could have _been_,”

Richie’s stomach roils with a thick, treacly grief, heart aching as his gaze joins Eddie on the wedding ring. The jewellery thick and demanding, covered in extravagant engravings that stretch around the curve. It’s garish and heavy on Eddie’s delicate hand, and all Richie can think of is how it looks so out of place, so un-Eddie-like. 

He could have found something so much nicer. 

“I know,” he whispers eventually in reply, voice breaking midway. He can’t think of anything better to say.

_We’ve lost so much time._

They stand for a moment in silence. The ring is a mocking reminder that this is only temporary – there is a whole other world away from Derry. Myra is waiting at home. It doesn’t matter that Richie knows, right to the depth of his being, that he would make Eddie happier. It also doesn’t matter that Eddie likely knows the same. 

Eddie has a life that he has built for himself with the security that he craves. He has responsibilities, a set future, a wife. If he were to choose Richie, it would mean losing everything. It would mean accepting the most terrifying, sudden realisation that he’s been living a lie for twenty-seven years and leaping off the edge of reason, Richie in tow.

The glimmer of hope in his chest is gone. Looking at the ring on his finger, Richie knows for sure what Eddie is going to say, and already his chest is constricting in anticipation, lips pressed tightly together to swallow back sobs until he is safe and alone in his car.

It so unfair.

“Ok,” Eddie mutters under his breath, quiet, but still loud enough to catch Richie’s attention, “Ok,” 

Richie’s eyes flicker to his face, swallowing thickly. Eddie had still not looked up from the ring. Richie swallows hard, braces himself for the guilt-ridden voice, the “I can’t,” or “I’m sorry,”

But it is something else entirely.

“It’s you,” Eddie says softly, eyes still on his hands. For a moment, Richie’s world stops entirely.

“It’s always been you,” Eddie looks up at Richie, eyes wet. Richie is numb from head to foot. He can’t look away. “It’s always going to be you,” he continues, voice catching, “_Christ,_ Rich,”

There is relief there, yes, sweet, thick relief that Eddie feels the same. But the man looks as though he is going to fall apart at the seams, face pale and stricken as his entire life sags in his hands, like a paper boat damp with rain.

Richie reaches out, pulls Eddie to him. The least he can do is try and hold him together, protect him from the unknown that Eddie has always been so afraid of.

Eddie follows with ease, tucking his face into Richie’s shoulder with a shaky exhale. Richie can feel the rise and fall of Eddie’s chest against him, the wet of his tears on his neck. He is warm, and alive, and his. He is his.

“We’ve lost so much time,” Eddie says quietly as Richie turns his face into his hair, “All because of that fucking clown,”

Richie runs his fingers over the nape of Eddie’s neck soothingly, “We have time,” he whispers into his curls, “I promise you, Eddie. We have all the time in the world,” 

It sounds like a lie even as he says it, especially with It lurking in the sewers which, Godammit, Richie is of course going to end up facing. Even if he had run, he doubts he would have made it past the library before turning back.

Eddie huffs a wet laugh, rising to press his forehead against Richie’s, “Not if we die tomorrow, we don’t,” he says weakly, eyes closed, a joking lilt to his voice that doesn’t quite make it through. 

“We won’t,” Richie says softly, closing his eyes as he breathes in Eddie’s closeness. They can’t, not after all of this. Holding Eddie so close, feeling warm breath against his face and long fingers pressed tightly against his back, Richie speaks with a hard certainty. 

“There’s no way I’m gonna let that happen,” he says lowly, more determined than he has ever been in his life. He is not letting this slip through his fingers again. 

Eddie’s forehead creases with emotion at the words, and he moves to press his nose into Richie’s cheek. Richie is on the verge of tears himself, taken aback with the pure amount of devotion he has for the man in his arms. It’s a scary thing. 

“I’m so in love with you,” the whisper falls of Richie’s mouth with ease, before he can even think to stop them. 

It should feel forbidden, those words, saying them to his best friend and a married man at that – but it doesn’t. It feels right, and natural, as though Richie’s life so far has been leading up to this admittance. It’s the truest thing he has ever known. 

“I love you too,” Eddie replies thickly, fingers curling protectively into Richie’s jacket. His voice is so quiet that it can barely be heard, “More than anything,”

At that, the tension in Richie’s chest breaks, and with it his resolve to keep the tears at bay. He is feeling so much – too much – as tears spill warm down his face. 

Anger, frustration, coiled tightly in his gut at the time that has been wasted; relief that he has finally found his place by Eddie’s side.

And love, love so strong and bright and intense that he’s inferior to its strength. It has him by the strings. For Eddie, he will do anything. 

Eddie pulls back as Richie begins to shake with silent sobs. His eyes are shining with tears too, and – despite everything – they crease as they see Richie’s face. “Oh, _Rich,_” he chastises softly through a tearful smile. 

Richie loves him. He’ll love him to his dying day. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Eddie’s. He wants to remember this moment, the feeling of Eddie, warm and gentle under his hands, smelling of soap and mint and Derry pine. He could stay in this moment for the rest of his life. 

There is a touch of Eddie’s fingertips on his cheeks, wiping away the tear tracks staining Richie’s skin, and then there is a warm mouth against his - gentle, reassuring, relieved. 

Richie sinks into the kiss, holds onto Eddie as though he is incapable of ever letting go. Everything about him is golden, beautiful, and Richie wants to devour it, wants to keep Eddie safe under skin, wants to share his soul and take Eddie’s in return until he can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. 

“Take me with you,” Eddie whispers between kisses, “When this is over, take me with you to LA,” 

The words push a sob of relief from Richie’s throat as he breaks from Eddie’s mouth, pulling back just enough to capture his eyes, “Seriously?”

Eddie nods, “I’ll work something out with my job, end things with Maura-“ his voice catches, “I don’t want to be without you again,”

There are no words for the soaring elation in Richie’s chest at the words, a pure feeling of joy, so strong it near knocks him to his feet. Tears drip down his face as he smiles wide and pulls Eddie to him, kissing him clumsily. 

Eddie in LA, Eddie in his home- his bed- _his life._ The suggestion, the _idea_ of it, is the most exhilarating thing that Richie has ever experienced. 

Late Sunday mornings, pressing lazy kisses into naked skin under the warmth of a comforter. Afternoons spent at the beach, running hands through salt-slicked hair as they hold each other in the sparkling ocean. 

Hearing Eddie snort at his ungodly singing whilst stuck in LA traffic. Tasting the crystallised sugar on his tongue at after a trip to Richie’s favourite bakery. Feeling the thrum of his heartbeat against his chest as they sink into restful sleep. 

Being with him for the rest of his life. Never being alone again.

“I love you,” he mumbles as they kiss, “I love you- I love you- I’ll never leave you- I swear,”

“I love you too,” Eddie whispers back, “I love you Richie,”

-

It is fire. 

It is a burning, raging pain that has Richie’s body engulfed in scalding flame as he screams. 

There are hands on his arms, pulling him backwards, and no matter how hard he struggles, no matter how hard he begs, they are steadfast. 

There are no thoughts running through Richie’s head, nothing he can comprehend. There is just pure, unadulterated horror as screams tear from his throat. 

_“I CAN’T LEAVE HIM, I CAN’T- EDDIE- NO- PLEASE, P L E A S E,”_

There is blood on Richie’s glasses, blood on his shirt, blood on his face and hands - the metallic scent of it coats the back of his throat. 

The memory of it, of Eddie’s abdomen being punctured like a capri sun, is tearing his sanity apart at the seams. The whites of Eddie’s eyes as he stared horrified at the pincer in his gut, the sound of his voice as he weakly called Richie’s name. The feeling of his blood, splattering onto Richie’s face. It had been warm against his skin.

_“E D D I E,”_ he shrieks, in a voice so wretched and broken that in his panic-ridden mind Richie can scarcely identify it as his own. 

He screams for him again, in violent desperation that claws at his veins. It was only hours ago- _hours_\- that he had been holding Eddie safe in his arms, breathing in his scent, capturing his lips with tears dripping down his face, the promise of a future together safe in their palms. 

And now- Richie’s body begins to heave with broken sobs- he’s being ripped away from him, forced to leave him as though he isn’t Richie’s heart, as though he isn’t Richie’s future, as though Richie would be able to ever leave these sewers without him.

_Open the fucking door- look me in the eye and make me understand- Rich, I can’t lose you- Take me with you to LA- I love you- I love you, Richie- I love you I love you I love you I love you-_

_“LET ME STAY,”_ Richie screams through his sobs, memories of Eddie’s voice pounding at his eardrums, _“DON’T MAKE ME LEAVE HIM ALONE- PLEASE- PLEASE, BEN- MIKE-”_

Richie’s not sure if they respond; he’s yelling too much to hear either way- incomprehensible, babbling cries that join with the chorus of noise as the cavern collapses around them.

They’re getting further away from Eddie’s body, small and ghostly pale in the vast expanse of the cave, clouds of dust curling around his bloody body in as rubble crashes to the floor. 

Richie had promised that he would never leave him. He had stroked his fingertips across the nape of Eddie’s neck, felt Eddie’s breath warm against his cheek, and sworn that this was it – it would be the two of them for the rest of their lives, making up for all the time they had lost.

But his friends are unrelenting. They are turning him into a liar, dragging him towards the gaping exit of the cavern and away from the love of his life. 

His ankle twists painfully as Richie tries again to find a foothold on the rocky ground. They are nearing the entrance of the cave and Eddie is fast disappearing from view- he doesn’t have much time before it’s too late. He pulls against Mike and Ben with a sob, ankle burning white hot in pain. 

He has to get free- has to get to Eddie before they’re permanently separated. He has to shield his body from the falling dirt and rock until his vision caves in and he can lie at Eddie’s side, cradling him in his arms as they are buried deep underneath Derry.

But it’s too late. There is a hand on his shoulder, gripping tight and yanking him backwards through the cavern entrance as an almighty crack rings through the darkness. The cavern ceiling. 

Richie’s screams escalate to a fever pitch, ripping through his vocal chords in frantic terror as he claws at the hands restraining his body. There is a great whoosh of air, then a booming crash as the ceiling collapses into the floor, and Richie is being pulled backwards- backwards- away from the shattering rock- away from the only person he will ever love. 

He can’t get to him. He’s lost him. He’s lost everything. 

Richie’s legs give way, body crumpling into his friends arms as they half-drag, half-carry him back the way they had entered. He is shaking with violent sobs that wrack his body to the core. 

His eyes, his hands, his lips, his laugh. The scar on his elbow from where the Doctor had re-set his arm after Neibolt. The dip between his brows when he frowns. The spark in his eyes when he argues back at Richie, helpless to the grin stretching across his face. 

They are all lost. Buried under rubble.

Richie chokes his name, screams with all his might. But there is no response.

Eddie is gone. He’s never coming back.

And once again, Richie is alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment, Kudos, Let me know your thoughts!


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